Cigarette: An Interlude
by MD
Summary: [KagaTsui] A cigarette between friends.


**pairing(s):** Kaga/Tsutsui   
**status:** complete 11/18/03   
**word count/time:** 869/50 minutes   
**notes:** _'Aware'_ (ah-wa-ray) is the notion that even illusory beauty can have a pitiable appreciation; such as for fire, which is extremely pretty from a distance, but can also be deadly when played with directly. Forgive, but there are instances when translating is just too awkward or taxing on characterization. This also refers to the use of 'bakayarou.' The English equivalents simply lack the sort of underlying affection the word is meant to carry, here.

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**Cigarette: An Interlude**

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The cigarette passed between them in silence, the tips of their fingers brushing tentatively as the smaller boy accepted it; it was a brief, feathering touch, accompanied only by the faint rasp of paper, as though to physically signify the acknowledgement and the passing of responsibility from one to the other. Then the cylinder drifted away, caught between Tsutsui's slender fingers, with only years of Go and the blurred memory of ash and sake to steady his trembling hand. 

Carefully, he rolled the cottoned end against his thumb, testing his grip... acutely aware of the other and the appraising look he must be receiving--as intent and stinging as the smoldering, orange-red embers creeping down the speckled wrapper. '_Aware_,' he observed with momentary detachment, noting the way the light flickered and glowed as though whatever it touched could come to life, and yet just as suddenly moved on, leaving mottled gray behind in its wake. Wasted, unsalvageable, and dead. Flicking the butt idly, he watched as the ash burst from the lit end and a few dying sparks floated away on the breeze, his blue-gray eyes troubled when they disappeared so easily, leaving the air surrounding them as empty and cold as it had been before, as though they'd never existed at all. 

Somehow, his mouth had become too dry, his lungs already beginning to ache from a lack of oxygen. 

Licking his lips, he only allowed himself one more moment to stare at the filter, finding false reassurance in the knowledge that the person next to him had taken in that first breath of acrid, smoky poison; though why it mattered at all, logically, was beyond him. He could base nothing about this instance on Kaga, except that the presence of tobacco had had its usual, quieting effect on the other boy. Indeed, he was sitting there silently, with barely contained patience, a hungry sort of attention betrayed in the restless, muffled beat of his fingertips--waiting for Tsutsui to take his turn and be done with it. 

Sighing, he forced himself to close his eyes and brought the cigarette to his lips; the cotton was surprisingly firm, he thought, and the paper edging it still slightly moist from Kaga's mouth. Ignoring that, he slid the stick between his fingers in a passable imitation of long practice and applied etiquette, then drew on it a little too deeply... only to regret it. 

His vision _blurred_, swimming with tears as the smoke he'd inhaled burst from his throat in a violent fit of coughing and wheezing. Somewhere between the protest of his lungs and the peripheral awareness that he'd dropped Kaga's cigarette, he felt the grass beneath his palms and the heaving in his stomach--so sharp that he hardly noticed the other boy clapping his back to get him to breathe again. The struggle lasted forever and yet only a few seconds, then Tsutsui found himself leaning heavily on the other's arm, dizzy, panting, and mortified not so much in that he'd made such a stupid mistake when he'd _known_ better, but more so by the fact that he'd done it in front of _Kaga_, of all people... the one person who could somehow make him feel as though he were only a child just by smiling that strange not-smile at him. 

"Hn. Bakayarou," he could hear Kaga grumbling as he reached for his fallen cigarette with the hand that wasn't occupied bracing against Tsutsui's back; then he resumed smoking, ignoring the sullen look in the other's eyes when he did so. Only the quirk in his mouth seemed to give a readable response, his lazy equivalent to a shrug. "You shouldn't be smoking, after all." 

Tsutsui would have sulked at that, had he not finally gotten enough of a grip on himself to realize the fact that Kaga wasn't even looking at him anymore. Those amber eyes were focused on some invisible point in front of them, somewhere along the dusky Tokyo skyline--or, perhaps, in that case, not focused at all. His voice had also stayed quiet when he'd spoken, his tone seemingly reflective. It would be a while, he supposed, before Kaga found himself a smoking buddy who wasn't twice his age. But, in the meantime... 

"Saa, I guess not," he admitted, curling a little into the warm crook of Kaga's arm, "But it's just as well." 

The other boy peered over at him cautiously behind a vanishing wisp of smoke, his expression ironic. "Don't want to ruin your health the way that I ruin mine, ne?" 

Tsutsui shook his head slowly, then let his head rest on Kaga's shoulder comfortably, a small, rueful smile touching his lips, "No... I just like the taste of them better, on you." 


End file.
